Cinematic Endings
by Mansah
Summary: No matter who we are and how we live our lives there are times when it feels like we're being cheated of a Hollywood ending. Short oneshots, various characters. Focuses on moments when a character could go 'If my life was like a movie'.
1. Vanessa, 4x05

I don't own anything. Criticism and reviews are always appreciated:D

A/N: Because I found myself thinking 'If this was a film x and y and z would happen'. I have an idea for at least one more but if I find the time and energy I might look for moments in some of the earlier series (basically this is also a less than subtle hint that if a passage has prompted such an idea in you I'd love to hear about it:P).

Vanessa, end of 4x05

* * *

You're not the romantic type, sappy clichés used too many times don't do anything for you and yet… as you turn around and walk slowly towards the door, bags in hand, you can't help but think wistfully to yourself: 'If my life was a movie this is when you'd stop me'. You would never admit it to yourself but maybe, unconsciously, you walk that little bit slower to give him a chance to say 'Don't go' or 'I love you, don't leave' or 'Wait' or even just grab your arm. You'd kiss and talk and spend the weekend in bed living on love only. You'd celebrate you finally overcame all the obstacles and it would be cue for happily ever after.

Of course he does none of those things because your life is not some silly romcom and you're not meant to want that anyway because you're tough and independent and want more from life than a flashy surface and canned love for the masses… but who are you kidding you do a little just the same. You try to chastise yourself, tell yourself that you're better off without that guy who's so quick to judge and who has so easily forgotten all those times that he messed up and you took him back but for once you don't care if you're in the right because what's the point in having truth on your side when you feel like you've lost everything anyway. You wonder why if you're so tough you gave in to the 'I love you' every time. (You also wonder even if he had stopped you would it finally be enough or would Serena come back to haunt you before you've had time to unpack yet again? But you don't wonder that because if your life had been a movie you would have been enough).

It's when you sit on the bus to Vermont, looking out the window observing people as you're wont to do you realise you've started crying. And it's not because he didn't come running, stopping the bus a love declaration in hand, but here you are once again running away with your tail between your legs and how did you ever get here? Your ticket has been bought by the principles you've cashed in too many times in the last few years: a videotape, a photo, a letter, a lie, a speech, a phone. Blackmail and scheming; for revenge, for love. Whatever the goal has been by the time you get there you've lost sight of it, one thing you know: it always ends in tears and they tend to be yours. And you'd hate to be considered whiny but isn't it unfair that every time you slip for a second you become an object of scorn, the outcast while they all receive immediate pardon? (You know that's not the whole truth but you've never been very forgiving of the Upper East Side and right now you feel less forgiving than ever).

At least you dealt very maturely with the goodbye; said what needed to be said, apologised. It's not much to be proud of but you'd like to think that no matter what mistakes you've made along the way as long as you'll admit to them in the end you have a chance of growing. Have a chance of one day becoming the person you used to think you were and that you're now striving to become. You'd like to think that all these tears and knockdowns are there to teach you a lesson, because maybe you used to think (unconsciously) of the world in black and white, maybe you used to think there was only one answer but if anything you've learnt that you too can make mistakes.

As these thoughts whirl through your head you can't help a wry smile because you can't help thinking that from your perspective as an artist life as it has turned out for you would appeal to you more than the happy ending you're longing for right now. You can't help but notice the irony.

The thing is you know you're not two-dimensional enough to fit in a romcom or any film for that matter. You tried playing a part once before and it didn't work because as soon as you started acting you weren't you anymore and back then Dan really did want you and whatever it was you had to offer. You can't help but wonder if he had stopped you now would you have accepted the happily ever after offered, because what's the point in 'and they lived happily ever after' if you have give up part of yourself to get there? For wouldn't the real you still want to discuss things, talk things over, question the supposedly happy ending? Because the thing is you don't believe in stand-alone romantic gestures, they're fleeting and once the glow of the moment fades there's reality to deal with and whatever anyone may think of love conquering everything you can't shut out the world. You've got to be sensible and realistic about things; a relationship is not a one-time thing but an ongoing commitment it won't last unless you work at it.

You dry the tears away then. Because even if it hurts and even if you would secretly would have loved for things to be solved as if by magic just this once you know deep down that maybe it's for the best. Your life is not a film and actually you wouldn't want it to be, not really.


	2. Eva, 4x04

I still don't own Gossip Girl or any of its characters. Criticism, reviews and suggestions are appreciated:D (Heck it's all love:D)

Eva, episode 4x04

* * *

You're furious and hurt as you pack your back and leave this world behind; this fairy tale you almost believed in. You should have known it was too good to be true and it doesn't matter that he comes crawling back, apology in hand and begging you to stay because it's not worth it. Even if you love him it's not worth it. You've got admit that it gets to you, though, his plea, the heartfeltness of 'Everybody leaves' because even if you haven't known him for that long you think you've come to understand him (love him). But even while you pity him you can't let go of the anger and the sense that you're better than this. Even in your years working the streets in Prolovka you've never had anyone treat you like this, had anyone get to you like this. (You can't help but think that even in your rage you're still echoing fairy tales because once upon a time in another world a redheaded girl told a rich guy that there's no point in dressing up a prostitute if you're going to treat her like one just the same and here you are doing the same, it's ironic considering how you've always tried to shut your mind to anything that wasn't real and here you are falling into all the clichés).

The anger takes you back over the Atlantic and it's only when you've settled back into life, working that job at your uncles that he fled from, that you catch yourself thinking: 'If this was a film he would have come back to me by now'. Even your location plays up to that theme, because what better city to find love and forgiveness than Paris – film history is full of examples. But it doesn't matter because you came to work not to dream, besides your prince hasn't come to save you and it was all too good to be true anyway, until it wasn't. (Did you ever think you life was a fairy tale anyway?). But the truth is you're not as sad about it as you thought you would be, and it's not because you're too angry to mourn him, the fact is you already got more than you ever dreamt of getting; for better and for worse. Because it was all there, all the ingredients for the perfect story of love and redemption. Not just for him but for you too. Poor little girl forced to sell her body to the night saving a stranger and saved in return, closing your eyes a pauper and waking up a princess, it could be that simple. But when is it ever?

The truth is, you've never pitied yourself and never allowed yourself to dream either, you gave up on castles in the sky before you even knew what they meant, sometimes life can be hard enough to live without being complicated by make believe. You've always looked life squarely in the eyes and never flinched because whatever you do whoever you are doesn't matter as long as you can be honest and true to yourself. You wish that didn't make you sound even more like a walking, talking cliché but there it is; there's a reason you didn't bother making up names, new identities depending on your situation. You were Eva Coupeau when as a little girl you helped feeding the newly born kid who had been too weak for the mother to care for, you were Eva Coupeau still while you worked the midnight hour on the streets of Prolovka and you were Eva Coupeau when you let yourself be caught in the world of parties, glitz and glamour (and love) and you're Eva Coupeau now, wiping tables and looking up as you hear the doorbell of the café sound. (It's not because you're expecting him to show up, it really isn't).

The fact is, yes, you cared for him, maybe you did love him and you're pretty sure that he cared for you too, but maybe you were just never meant to go to Manhattan, because it was clear even before that that you'd been miscast, that you didn't belong. And you're not thinking the society galas or the million dollar charity donations but the fact that clearly you'd entered the story as the second Mrs de Winter, only Rebecca was still alive and your Maxim wasn't ready to give her up.

The thing is you've never judged anyone by hearsay or on their past, everybody deserves a clean slate in your book and actions should speak for themselves (_'O__ld Chuck, bad Chuck, new Chuck, good Chuck to me it's one man, one journey'_ you weren't lying when you said it) but the mentality there was so foreign to you; you've never encountered so many lies, so much hatred and deceitfulness as you did there. You would have lived through it, you really would if only he hadn't let you down but he did and that's the time you remind yourself that your life was not cut out for happily ever after. Movies are machinated by a bunch of people who know how to persuade people that fairy tales can come true and it's a beautiful thought and you were nearly taken in.

Who knows? Maybe he would have given Blair up with time; maybe he'd have stopped comparing, stopped believing in lies and deceit but whatever people may ascribe to you of saintly virtues you refuse to put your life on hold. 'Maybe' is just not good enough, it belongs with 'what ifs' and other words of rosy clouds and knights in shining armour; it's not the words a former working girl should even know. It's not running away you tell yourself, you're not giving up; you've just always known which battles to fight and which aren't worth your time.

You know you made the right decision because he hasn't shown up on your doorstep; whatever you meant to him it clearly wasn't enough. And you're not disappointed, you refuse to be disappointed because you never expected it anyway; never expected it to happen at all and never expected it to last when it did. Most people you know don't even get half the fairy tale you did, so maybe you've been lucky? You just hope, for his sake, that he's still being the person you fell in love with but you won't read up on him to check. Another thing you've learnt; never look back. After all, the present is more than enough to deal with because the truth is, while you might have been led to forget in the midst of your whirlwind romance what you told Blair was true; there's a reason you went to Prague and your family still needs you and dreaming of romantic movie endings won't pay any bills.


	3. Serena, 4x08

I still don't own anything. Criticism, suggestions and comments are all welcome:D (in fact they're loved).

I've been working on Nate (and something pre series 4) and then in the way Serena must she comes up and demands attention and who am I to deny her even if she's queue-jumping?:P

Serena, 4x08

* * *

The sky is blue, the sun is shining and you're wearing a pretty dress. The setting is perfect for a princess moment and when your prince comes, on Blair's arm of all people, having quit his job to be with you there's a fluttering in your stomach that you mistake for butterflies. Because this is it, this is the time for that final kiss before the credits roll. _If my life was like the movies this is when it would end,_ you think happily as you let him embrace you, your lips meeting his and your thoughts are fixed on the one thought: _If I could freeze this moment all would be well_.Because it's all so perfect; the perfect guy, the perfect dress, the perfect setting, the perfect romantic gesture, the perfect moment. To an outsider it's no wonder your life seems wonderful, all gold and glitter... of course you know better, because even if right now you won't admit it the fact is it takes more than a gleaming surface to make perfection and your heart's no longer in it. You haven't acknowledged this yet, and you won't for a while, but how else would you explain the fact that a second later you find yourself turning your head, facing the disappointed eyes of someone from your past, someone who also once made your heartstrings flutter.

It's ironic, but for someone determined to live in the present, your past is awfully determined to haunt you –for better and for worse it won't let you go. If you cared to analyse things closely you'd see it's the past that has ensured every relationship you've ever had has ended up on the graveyard. A transgression with a best friend's boyfriend, an old boyfriend continuously popping up trying to revive old times, the memory of a father who never took the time to care. Maybe that's enough to create a film right there, but even if it's your life you'd never accept that as your story. It's too dramatic, too grey and gloomy for you; it leads to questions not answers and there's no prospect of a happy end. So you close your eyes and ignore it, deny the past ever existed. Others might call it escapism, being irresponsible. Personally, you like to call it optimism.

If you weren't such an optimist you might accept defeat immediately. If you listened more to yourself you might recognise that the bells in your head aren't sounding a wedding but a warning, because suddenly the idea of a 'real relationship' with someone you haven't known since high school, an adult with adult demands and expectations, seems the last thing you wanted and that can't be true. The story does end here, but it's not in the romantic way you hoped for. You could admit it already, but you choose to fight a little longer; believe in the illusion at least until the end of the night because it's not fair that you should not get the end you wanted. It's not fair that you can trust your feelings so little; one moment you're certain he's all you've ever wanted the next you just don't care at all.

The fact is; maybe you'd worry less about this if it didn't mean you ended up hurting people, if it wasn't for the fact that everybody puts it down to you being capricious and irresponsible and driven only by desire. Because no matter what it looks like you actually care; about people, your friends, the man in front of you. You never mean to play anyone, never mean to put friend against friend because you can't decide, never mean to make someone do great romantic gestures just to put them down for it. You like to think you're not cruel or heartless; in fact you like to think you're not as irresponsible as people believe either but you suppose when you fixate on the present possible future consequences don't really enter your mind. So maybe you are irresponsible. But you never mean to be. Just like you never mean to be fickle. It's just... you trust your heart completely, but it tells you so many different things within a microsecond that you end up changing your mind constantly.

Still it's changing now and that's the horror. Weeks of pining and whining and agonising and suddenly it's in your grasp and you don't feel anything. No sparks. No excitement about how the night will end. The man beside you is handsome, kind, wonderful but it doesn't matter because your heart doesn't jump for joy and you're starting to recognise that fluttering; it's unease, the fear that you're about to pull a 180 and you don't know how to break it. So you spend the night holding on tightly to his arm, smiling, laughing and you nearly fool yourself into believing that perhaps you get your desired movie ending after all because as you tell Dan before he runs away; he quit his job for you, what more can you ask for. It all makes sense, it's all perfect. He has proven his worth. But it won't do... Because it's not in your nature to stick with things when they don't feel right (maybe it's too perfect, maybe that's the problem); maybe that's the past affecting you too, after all, you've seen what it did to your mother. Five marriages and endless relationships and mostly it just led to frustration and regrets because she didn't follow her heart years and years ago. And she's not the only one. You've seen too many people ignore the whispers of their hearts and they never ended happy and maybe that's because happiness isn't part of the Upper East Side equation but you refuse to accept that.

-x-x-

There's a cab drive, going over today's events and suddenly he's declaring his love in subtle terms –he'll take any risk for you, even face the deceit and lies of the Upper East Side and if that's not love you don't know what is. There's a brief moment where you think: _I could have it all. If I spoke now I could literally have it all_. But you were meant to speak not think in that moment and he reads your hesitation for what it is. It's okay, you end it amicably. Maybe he's hurt, but you didn't take it too far this time.

So you leave him behind, find yourself standing on the pavement looking at his taxi driving away taking your movie ending with him. If you were a different person this might be the moment when you break down and cry, or stomp your feet in desperation, or go inside and break open a tub of ice. But you're Serena and this is not what you do. So maybe it's reflex, maybe it's destiny, when you find yourself grabbing your phone, making a call (because this is what you do). It seems an innocent gesture to you, just another road your heart has asked you to follow. If you looked to the future you'd see that, ironically, it's bringing you back to that reality you've been meaning to avoid, that endless loop of new roads and the past catching up with you.

However hard you try to get a happy movie ending the fact is there's too much drama in your life for it to be over yet.


	4. Nate, 3x11

I don't own anything. Criticism, reviews, comments, suggestions... it's all love:D

Nate, end of 3x11

* * *

As she bends down and follows Tripp into the car you can't help but wonder at the irony of it all. Everybody has always seen you as the knight in shining armour, a Prince Charming of flesh and blood; supposedly any guy would want to be you and every girl would want to date you. You know even Chuck Bass has felt insecure because of you and you know he's not insecure of anything. You should be pretty pleased. The joke here is of course that no matter how perfectly you fit the idea of the Hollywood hero you've never felt the part quite fit; it used to be constricting, choking you now it just feels plain wrong. Because right now you've never been further away from gaining that happy ending and as the taxi disappears down the street you can't help but think wistfully: _'If my life was like a movie this is when you'd stop the cab and come running back to me'_.

You stand a while looking, hoping, because once is all it takes for everything to go right, right? You've seen it happen over and over again in the millions of films you've been forced to watch with Blair and Serena over the years. Whether the heroine's last name is Hepburn or Roberts a confession, some bold romantic gesture, seems to be all it takes and you did it.

You stood by her, told her how you used to love her even though she'd just broken your heart:_ 'Two years ago at the masquerade ball, I tried to tell you I loved you.'_ You gave her the heartfelt speech, trying to voice feelings that you've kept repressed for so long: _'Look, I know what I did was wrong. But I did it because ... ever since last week, ever since three years ago when you left ... please don't go. Please stay here with me. Please give me a chance.'_ You bared yourself of everything and showed her that at the end of the day Nate Archibald is just a guy standing in front of a girl telling her he loves her. But it's not enough. And why would it be? Because in that admission you've given away your strongest card, your claim to fame; the image of the golden boy who has it all. Maybe that's what makes the difference between her and all the others; Blair, Vanessa, Jenny… they never lost that illusion, never lost that fantastic fairy tale idea of you; never told you, you weren't enough for them to keep hanging (it was you who didn't believe it strongly enough then). But she's Serena van der Woodsen and now you're just some guy. When you're Serena van der Woodsen you don't need a prince to save you, you don't need to settle for a white knight when you have an entire kingdom at your feet, you don't need to settle for anything let alone someone who's just 'some guy'.

And here's another piece of irony, even if she doesn't want you; even if all you can do is save damsels in distress and that's not enough for her she's the one you've saved the most.

The taxi is disappearing, drowning in the lights of a thousand other cars roaming the streets of Manhattan on this Thanksgiving night. The city suddenly feels overwhelmingly big while you've somehow diminished; lost and alone there's nothing golden about you. But then there's Chuck, holding on to your shoulder, holding on to you, because he's your homey and he's the one person able to take you back to the present. _'She'll be back man, she always is.'_ ('_but she never came back for me'_ you add mentally; it's always for someone else –Eric, Blair...). But it's all he says before he drags you into his limo and out into the night; a promise of booze and drugs and games and forgetfulness unspoken. He doesn't have to, he's Chuck Bass and those are his solutions to any problems even if the words he ties in with the actions have changed over time as he has. Less tap that ass, more love will set you free. He has read your thoughts though and shrugs in a 'you never know' way. And you know it's true, you know that even if she hasn't come back for you yet she's Serena, the most alive girl you've ever known, like the wind; wild and playful one moment, calm and sweet the next; blowing away only to stop at a halt or returning no saying for what. She could come back for you one day.

The trouble right now though is that she didn't leave with just anybody. She left with Tripp. He's married and that's an ant nest's worth of trouble in itself –enough for Serena to require saving sometime soon. But the real problem is that there's so much of Tripp in you the thought of it makes you sick because you can't help but wonder if you'd spoken sooner would she still have left with him? And after him how are you ever going to be good enough. The knight in shining armour; it's not a particular Nate Archibald trick it belongs to the entire younger generation of Vanderbilts. Next to Tripp you really do become just another boy; blonde but not golden.

And isn't that ironic too? You've tried to free yourself of your family and put all your integrity and honour on that one guy who you thought was worth everything, and here he is (un)knowingly stabbing your back, able to take the one thing you've always wanted (because right now that's what it feels like even if history and reason tells you differently) by being everything that you are but highlighted, accentuated. You could be angry, but right now that's not the feeling that's most prominent in you. Instead there's just this horrible sense of defeat, of nothing ever being enough. Here's how the film would go if it ended now; the story of Nate Archibald the golden boy: the guy who was meant to have it all but lost it.

You push the button on your remote a little harder, ensuring one of Chuck's planes crash on the screen. At least you're winning this game. He looks to you and you challenge his stare with a raised eyebrow; taking a swig of the beer as if to prove a point. He just smirks and passes you a joint. _'The game's not over yet, Nathaniel!_' Okay, so maybe you haven't quite lost it all because one thing you have learnt from films is that you can always get by with a little help from your friends.


	5. Blair, 1x13

Still don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Critique and comments of any kind is love!

Blair, episode 1x13

* * *

You're running away under the cover of darkness like some common fugitive, it would make for an interesting narrative twist if you ever wanted to write your life as a thriller but right now you're not in the mood for stories of any kind; besides you never cared that much for action plots. Maybe on some unacknowledged level you think a semester away will be enough to clean the slate; erase this bad script and allow for a new story to be written. People could miss you and in the midst of missing you they would forget, everything...

You scoff at yourself, because even you see the flaws in that tale; you may be a master at perfecting your own life but you know enough of the world to know nobody is willing to overlook others' past mistakes out of the goodness of their hearts, after all, you saw how people treated you today. You know how they, how you, have treated others in the past. There's nothing generous about the Upper East Side and the only way for people to live down their mistakes is if they're the only ones to know about them. At least that's what you used to think, now you know not even sure that is true. There are too many unknown factors to control events, secrets always come out and life cannot be tailored; but if that's the case then no fairy tale you could ever try to spin has a chance of coming true. So that's it then; stories are never real and, if anything, this week has taught you no matter how pink you try to paint reality you can't conceal the creases. So what's the point in fighting if it's all doomed to come to nothing in the end?

Still, as you're standing on the helipad surrounded by suitcases and watching that yellow cab approach you can't help the involuntary flutter in your stomach, because it could be, couldn't it? It could be the one time where life actually goes according to plan. It could be, would be perfect, after all; a disillusioned girl giving up on romance being reminded that it actually does exist. Sure you might have been forced to accept that your life is not as picture perfect as you tried to paint it but what if it's them who were all wrong, what if you _can _will a thing hard enough for it to happen? Before you know it you've been tricked into thinking those treacherous thoughts: _'If my life was like a movie he'd step out of the taxi and tell me the past didn't matter, that I shouldn't go, that he loved me and all he wanted was for us to be together, that together we will brave the world.'_

You're not willing to consider the implications of the vagueness of 'he'. Why, when you allow the images to run past your inner eye your hero's face is a blur, indistinguishable. The fact is, just now you're not even sure who it is you want to come and save you; whether you want it to be the love of your seventeen-year old life, the beautiful golden boy who was the foundation of all your dreams and hopes until a few months ago or the despicable, devil Lothario who opened doors to new experiences; pleasure and cruelty and mixed-up emotions and a life without masks, without expectations, without rules. Nate or Chuck, a white knight or a dark prince? Right now it doesn't matter, you just want one of them to come and kiss everything away, make the sound of Monday sound less daunting than it does this minute.

Your hopes are crushed before they really gain foothold though, because of course it's neither of the boys who exits the car; it's Serena. The echo of an earlier remark suddenly ringing mockingly in your ears: _'You act like you're in this movie about your perfect life, but I have to remind you that the only one watching it is you.' _It hurts too much when you have to admit that that's exactly what has happened once again. The truth is you might tell your story better than anyone but what does it matter if no one's convinced by it except yourself? Nate and Chuck are not going to save you; they made that crystal clear already when they demonstrated just how little they thought of you. _'You understand perfectly'... 'I'll try to be more succinct'... 'I want nothing else to do with you'... 'rode hard and put away wet'... 'you and Chuck deserve each other.'... 'I don't want you anymore and I can't see why anyone else would.'_ It's pathetic really, this desperate hanging on to a belief that a taxi can bring a fairy tale ending. It's even more humiliating when reality once again falls short.

Still, you try to hide your disappointment, greeting the reality that did come in the taxis tow with a raised head: _'What? You_ _want a lift to JFK_?_'_ because even if you've lost it doesn't mean you have to show it. It's common Waldorf survival strategy. But it doesn't last long because reality is shaped like Serena and not only is she your best friend she's also too deeply entangled in all this mess to make reality feel anything but a cold, harsh and unappealing fact. She intensifies the hurt and the shame by a thousand degrees and you feel the tears brimming in your eyes because it's all too bitter a pill to swallow. _'Everything's horrible. My whole life's falling apart.'_ But then, just as you are throwing in the white flag, crying _'Surrender' _with those unbidden tears sliding down your cheek because this battle is too hard to fight on your own it's as if things change; maybe it's that you realise that you're not alone, maybe it's that Serena's the one person who can give reality that silver lining.

Maybe it's the way she tells your story; the way she admits that not all you conjured up was a fairy tale: talking as if being Blair Waldorf still means something, giving the impression that it might mean more than what you first thought because she's telling you a story where that name can bring you to recover not just from today's humiliation, but to raise above it too. Maybe it's the way she points to an alternative, maybe it's the way she reminds you that you've always been more than what a dirty, deriding blast from Gossip Girl makes you out to be. It's probably the way she promises to stand by your side, always. But most definitely it's the way she's making you realise that even if she's not Nate, even if she's not Chuck she's uttering words that resemble your mental script so much you hardly know if in fact you didn't write it.

'_Stay... People don't tell you who you are, you tell them... I'll fight with you... Start over... We'll get through this together...'_

No, it's not the movie ending you wished for; you haven't been saved and she can't protect you from the shame and the scorn and the nine circles of Hell awaiting you when school resumes but she's here when nobody else is, she's here after you've hurled abuse after her to escape facing your own demons, she's here giving you a reason to stay when you were ready to fly away. And maybe this, staying, is the tougher choice, there's a reason everybody else runs. But to you it was never a question of what's the easiest; it was question of survival; maintaining a hold on your dreams, keeping your life in control because for a minute there you felt you lost it, felt your life came crashing down and you with no ideas of how to salvage... anything. It just goes to show how wrong you were because all you really needed was an alternative ending and Serena's giving you the words to write it.

So maybe this is not the romantic solution to a tragic, passionate love triangle, maybe it's not the heartbreaking story of a girl who loses everything and has to pay the price, maybe putting your life in those terms are too grandiose anyway, too deeply immersed in a drama that doesn't reflect life. Maybe this is just another nasty hiccup in your everyday coming-of-age story; the story of a girl, any girl, who has her heart broken and learns that what doesn't break you, only makes you stronger.

(You think you'd like it better if it didn't make you out to be quite so ordinary).


	6. Vanessa, 2x12

Don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Comments of any kind are more than appreciated!

Vanessa, 2x12

* * *

As you look around you in one of the most embarrassing moments of your life there's a part of you that can't help but appreciate just how perfectly this is set up. There you are, standing in the centre of the group by yourself, everybody around you having magically moved to form a wide circle around you as if they knew this was going to happen, the light is perfectly angled to light up every contour of your body, all you lack is the braces for a perfect recreation of a humiliation scene in the spirit of _Never Been Kissed_ and _Romy & Michele's High School Reunion_, not that you'd ever admit to having seen either. You're visible to all (too visible) and everyone is here; the prince you thought was charming, the evil step sisters, the betrayed friend turned betrayer. You can't decide what's more humiliating, that you know exactly how you're supposed to react or that you can feel the strange compulsion to actually do so. The thought is bitter when it comes to you, the thought that _if life was like the movies this is the moment that would force me never to leave high school behind_. There's the unpleasant sensation of a lump of tears getting stuck in your throat. _I'd find myself years from now unable to move past this, my life would be a failure and I'd still be waiting for that chance to go back and redo everything. _There's a history of chick flick heroines behind you; girls who had a dream but ended up living its caricature whether it be in journalism, fashion or film. You suppose your failed universe would have you make advertisement spots for TV. You wish you could avoid that cliché, avoid all of the clichés of this horrible, humiliating moment but the fact is it does hurt because there's not a single sympathising face in the crowd. There are giggles, smug smiles and OMG comments from boys and girls who think they're better than you because they have more money, better clothes and an address on the Upper East Side. And there's the boy you like standing motionless, just watching and maybe you've no right to expect his help after what you did but it doesn't make you feel any better.

As you turn to leave you feel the urge to just complete this cinematic moment t to perfection by giving dignity a swerve and simply run away to find the comfort in tears and a tub of Ben & Jerry's and you have to remind yourself that you never actually did see the point in downing ice cream just because you've hit a bump (and if it was you'd prefer Van Leeuwen anyway). Besides, you've sworn never to let them see you cry, why give them that satisfaction? And yes, maybe you stole that from another film but when life seems to be constantly crisscrossing into the world of happily (n)ever afters sometimes it's difficult to keep them separated. It's what got you here in the first place after all, isn't it? Girl meets boy from the wrong side of town, girl falls in love with boy, girl loses herself to be with boy, boy dumps girl because girl has changed, girl gets karmic retribution of the ages and learns never to mess with people from other worlds again. Nate, a letter and a see through dress. No, it's not what you'd call an original plot but it sure does the trick, there's a reason these films sell.

Anyway, maybe it's better this way. Better to end things before you get too involved, before you lose yourself completely. It seems your parents were right and riches do corrupt, because what happened to Jenny? And more importantly, what happened to you? One moment you're full of righteous contempt for other people's blackmailing and underhand scheming, the next you're the one hiding letters, breaking trusts. The truth is you probably should be running; not because you're hurt and not because their opinion matters but because when did you waste your time on people whose sole concern is themselves and how other people see them. When did you let them dictate the rules about how you behave?

You hold on to this as you get your shawl from the cloakroom and exit the hall. Use it as a bolster to keep you from minding that other thing you lost inside and which somehow feels worse than all the blooming youth of the Upper East Side pointing fingers at you and laughing. Because even if you can rationalise tonight's events away, even if you can persuade yourself that losing Nate is for the best it doesn't keep it from hurting, just a little. And you're a tough girl and it shouldn't matter, it should be easy to give him up, dead easy, easy as a lie but the truth is it's not. And maybe the truth is that you never were as tough as you thought you were. Sure, you know your mind, have integrity, value independence, and until recently never compromised your principles for anything, but the fact is no man is an island and well, ever since you came back to New York that's how you've been feeling – like an island. Lost is the confidence gained from having friends who think and feel like you, lost is the sense of belonging because somehow you've been spending more time in the vicinity of Fifth Avenue than in Brooklyn this last year. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if only it didn't feel so lonely. But Dan is too caught up in Serena drama, Jenny is too eager to carve a passage for herself, and Rufus is lost in reminiscences about old romances. But then there was Nate. Who seemed as uncomfortable about his position as you did and maybe it was silly to think that you could create a place of your own, a bubble of fresh air in the midst of the murky world of Upper East Side politics, but you believed it anyway.

Well, it doesn't matter either way because whether you want him or not there's really nothing you can do if he doesn't want you. And you're not going to let this moment ruin you either, in fact you're almost regretting that you stormed away, maybe you should have stayed long enough to give them a piece of your mind, not that they would care anyway. So why do you have to care? Why does their rejection hurt you even though it shouldn't? Whatever happened today you vow to yourself that you're not going to let this romcom cliché extend any further. Anyone knows what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger and how you will laugh the day this story will be the first in a documentary series exposing the shallow lives of the Upper East Side; penned, shot and chopped by Vanessa Abrams dedicated to all the lovely people whose life you had the pleasure of becoming a part of in your late teens. It's a nice thought and it almost numbs the feeling of something gnawing at your heart.

It's then, out of the corner of your eye that you suddenly notice him; the boy who wasn't supposed to be here, who wasn't supposed to want you anymore. You find your anger vanishing, all your strength too because he doesn't care, he doesn't care about what you've done, he doesn't care about what the rest of his world thinks, he just wants to see where this goes, maybe even go somewhere with a little backlighting. And suddenly you find your voice wobbling and a tear in your eye because how is it that something so beautiful can come out of such a corrupt world, and how is it he can dismiss public humiliation and dispel twenty years of inevitable traumatic memories with nothing but a smile and pointed remark?

The truth is, maybe you're straying into the movie world again but for once you don't really care. Perhaps it's okay even for down-to-earth girls from Brooklyn to experience a bit of glamour just once in a while?


	7. Dan, 4x18

I don't own a thing.

Comments of any kind are greatly appreciated (and apologies to anyone who might have been reading this for not writing in ten ages).

Dan, 4x18

* * *

You're dressed to the nines and bolstered with the confidence of Blair's twisted logic working in mysterious ways (and you're not insane for trusting this to be the real deal, after all, Eric corroborated your theory). It's feeling scarily surreal, scarily like a dream you never admitted to having. 'This' you think, your face lit by a smile you're scarcely conscious of; 'This is exactly like a film.' One of those films you'd never willingly watch unless the language isn't English or it was made before the 1970s...

(or maybe, just maybe, you concede as memories of golden locks draped over your shoulders come back to you accompanied by the sweet taste of strawberries and champagne 'It's the only way to watch _Pretty Woman_' purred huskily in your ear, maybe all it would take for you to sit down and watch one of those films is the right person by your side)

It doesn't matter in the end though, what matters, is you know what's coming. She brought you here under false pretences and if this was a movie, this is how it would go: She wouldn't admit it at first, she'd act huffed and you'd argue and maybe if you were the same Dan as four years ago you'd get angry with her that she couldn't love you for who you were making this the obstacle part of the film but you're not the same (she beckoned and you came and you're in a suit and you're a changed man and she changed you and this is it (maybe Serena changed you first but in moments like these, who's paying attention to detail?)) - and you suspect this is the end more likely; the airport running moment when the hero gets his heroine against all odds, against themselves even, and there's reconciliation and kissing and letting bygones be bygones and pictures fading as the credits start rolling. For you know her better now, know this is the extent of her olive branch abilities and you've had your hurdles anyway –a week without a single text and a kiss before that (in a film that week would be months condensed into a two minute montage accompanied by sad singing and a camera's sweeping movement taking in your miserable life, brushing over your increasingly scruffy exterior, your flat filled with a growing amount of half-eaten junk food, maybe a brief second of you sitting by a typewriter tearing a paper to pieces before throwing it in the bin and her acting cool and collected until she finally breaks down and admits that she regrets letting you go (to Serena maybe) or maybe it would be one of those 'burnt in youth' defining moments and the ten years between your two meetings would be shown in a few fragmented clips telling your life; you'd go from dishevelled, dejected and disillusioned and rejecting every girl because you can't let go to having turned, finally, into this hunky, together guy who still can't commit but who has persuaded himself that he doesn't care anyway and she'd be pictured with a string of dates, all perfect and her dream in the flesh, but she'd always find some fault and slowly wane into nothing worrying all her friends until she finally admits there can be only one for her and, just as you're ready to make the final move, get on that airplane, she'd be there and it'd be enough). (No, you don't watch these movies, but you're a writer after all, and you've got the formula for a conventional Hollywood love story etched into the fabric of your being).

But right here and now, you don't need any added cinematic touches, no embellishments. Because this might be a movie moment but at the same time it feels so real; you're two semi-adult people ready to compromise, ready to commit and be damned the consequences (the thoughts of a hurt, disbelieving Serena and a vengeful, baleful Chuck are blissfully far from your mind). This is a compromise you can both wrap your heads around; romantic yet true to who you are (or have become at least).

Even though you've already had your epiphany you're still shocked by the surge of certainty running through you as she turns to look at you; that the right person no longer is all golden beauty, smiles and laughter but someone all thorns and secrets –at least on the outside. You don't stop to think when it was you came to this equation; that both girls were deceptive. (Serena seemed so open, so easy to read, so carefree yet underneath that gilded beauty were all kinds of ghosts you never came to accept before it was too late. With Blair it's the other way around; she makes it so hard to get near her; she'd rather you fear and hate her than admit that beneath that queenly armour there is a girl who still thinks an apology will erase all wrongdoings, who thinks the world should consist of happily ever afters and who'll give her whole heart to you if she decides she loves you.) Nor do you ask yourself when this realisation followed; that loving either of them could feel equally right, equally like you're the perfect person for the hero part. (You don't stop and wonder how you suddenly became the leading man in both their stories either, though if story-telling is really nothing but the imitation of life perhaps it's not surprising that sometimes reality beats films with its unforeseeable, inexplicable events. In the end it comes down to this: she brought you here through a convoluted plot; the Blair Waldorf equivalent of a declaration of love and you love her and you came ready for that final, fade-out kissing scene and you're not afraid and this is it: the end).

It doesn't take more than a second for your bubble to burst. 'This isn't a photo shoot for a high school yearbook'. Exuberant confidence is washed away and all that remains is a burning sense of shame and defeat. In a cruel twist of fate it's not you but your arch-nemesis who won it all. Oh, this is a film alright but all of a sudden you feel more like the bullied victim in a teen coming-of-age movie than the principal star in a romantic comedy and your relegation to a useless, sympathy-inducing bit part is confirmed when you find yourself having to hide budding emotions to save yourself. 'I just came to tell you that it didn't mean anything'. (Now how many times has _that_ phrase figured in a Hollywood plot and isn't that ironic?). And you want to throw something because why must you be stuck with all the cheesy, clichéd lines if you're not to get the girl? Your life a fucking repeat of wanting something, working for something only to have it snatched by undeserving assholes with trust funds. Even more depressing is the fact that these events eerily remind you of early days with Serena when Blair was still a ninety-five-pound, doe-eyed, bonmot-tossing, label-whoring package of girly evil who daily reminded you of the reality ruling on the Upper East Side: class doesn't mix, you can't escape your roots and you're nothing without money. The last place where a princess might kiss a frog, or a Labrador, and think she found Prince Charming?

It's only later, when you enter the loft and suddenly find yourself sitting in front of your computer, typing frantically that you're able to appreciate what actually happened today; that whatever words you had to eat, whatever feelings you had to deny and despite the fact that another candidate for Prince Charming stood at the ready she didn't give you up. She might have said the kiss didn't mean anything, that all it did was turn her towards Chuck but ultimately, in the choice between Chuck and you, she chose you. The friend before the ex-lover. Companionship and compatibility before romanticised 'epic' love (which by the way might make for memorable story-telling, but only if one of the characters die you think bitterly). And maybe you don't quite understand what it means yet, clearly it doesn't mean you've become worthy of the girl. But it tells you one thing, whatever appearances may be the Upper East Side wasn't allowed a complete win. No, you're not the leading man yet. But perhaps you not a mere bit character either?


End file.
